


The London Husbands

by oneburritotorulethemall



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Sherlock, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Bottom!Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Historical Inaccuracy, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not so teen John, Please Don't Hate Me, Shameless Smut, Sherlock has a slight daddy kink, Sherlock´s an aristocratic pain in the ass, Smut, Teen John Watson, Teenager Sherlock, Top John Watson, Victorian Attitudes, Wax Play, because I wanted to do justice for Oscar Wilde, but he gets better I swear, daddy/little boy, don't hate me for the holmescest, for the Holmescest, not related to the ATB, teen!lock, top!John, victorian clothes, victorian!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-10-24 19:40:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10748469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneburritotorulethemall/pseuds/oneburritotorulethemall
Summary: Now we have Sherlock during the victorian era (it's NOT related to TAB.) Sherlock's a poshy aristocrat and to John's good (or bad?) luck, he ends being Sherlock's paid company.It doesn't matter the era or the year, Sherlock's a posh, royal pain in the ass... but John will keep him under control (as he always does :p)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [The London Husbands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7815229) by [oneburritotorulethemall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneburritotorulethemall/pseuds/oneburritotorulethemall). 



> Well! I'm the author of the original fanfic "The London Husbands" but in the spanish version. An english version was being written but I lost contact with the lovely girl who was translating this work and...well, since there's people (thank you so much, btw!) who asked about the english version, I finally found myself translating it. 
> 
> For the people who already read this work until chapter three. Please be a little patient while I translate the fourth chapter. I'll do my best to have it for the next week (cannot promise anything since I'm still working on the new chapter for the spanish version.) 
> 
> Anyway, it isn't britpicked and if I made any mistake, please forgive me. English isn't my first language lol.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for the kudos in advance!

I:

 

The 18th birthday of the youngest heir of the Holmes family just had place two days before in the mid of a cold January, therefore, every celebration and ball had to be done on the inside of any respectable manor to ensure the comfort and a good time for the guests. Having to celebrate a birthday inside the house would've been a bummer for anyone, except for him. How could he be so disappointed if he didn't have anyone to be called "friend"? 

 And his lordship, the marquis of Holmes wanted to change that "No-friends-for-me-thank-you" subject on his youngest son Sherlock, a boy who just became of age, dark twisted curls with a skin so soft and pale that reminded of the most expensive marble anyone could find; something that struggled everyday with his manners every time he took a not so optimistic walk at midday or during the dinners and balls his parents organized.  

 

****************************** 

 

The door of Sherlock's study was slammed open while the black haired boy was bending over a silver tray with a small snake pinned to be the victim of his curiosity (or for science sake, which was the same to the boy.) "We don't need to talk about the subject again and again, do we, father?" asked without even raising his eyes from the dead snake. Of course, that answer ignited Lord Holmes anger.  

 "Do you want to tell me what happened out there, Sherlock?" Inquired Mr. Holmes totally serious, gazing at his son."And look at me when I am talking to you."  

 Sherlock rolled his eyes as his curiosity died so he could look at his father, unwilling to loose another five minutes (" _no, three minutes and twenty seconds now that he's angry_ " thought the boy) in a conversation he was pretty sure he was going to win.  

"Miss Cathrine Wyndham payed me a visit; which I observe as unnecesary; and during said visit, we played a really boring chess match, then we had tea and as her left hand can tell you, she's not even capable of having a decent conversation with another human being with an acceptable reasoning capacity." Sherlock answered without hiding his boredom, then, he turned back again to his little snake and the acids that lighted up his curiosity one more time. That, of course, did nothing but rise his father's annoyance.  

 "You called Miss Wyndham an idiot and practically forced her to leave our home, completely ashamed!" Exclaimed his lordship, took a few steps further in his son's direction and held him by the arm. "And look at me while I am talking to you! What do you think is this place? What is your opinion about this family? Is it that you think we are nothing but a stack of vulgar drunkens who go yelling around the whole town? William Sherlock Scott Holmes, what are you going to do with your life? You are already eighteen years old and finished college but nothing seems to please you in life: You have no friends and not a single approach for the life that God so kindly gave you. Eating, drinking and fooling around it's pretty nice without worries but I'm not eternal, I won't be able to always go behind you to fix your lousy character." 

 At those words, Sherlock got free from his father's grip and set a serious look at him, feeling a bit mad. What was so interesting about a boring life like the one his parents kept suggesting? There was no hobby created by mankind that could cease his need of knowledge, his parents considered that someone of their level worked, was something unworthy of them ( _"If you want to do something with your spare time and at the same time, do something good for the community, Sherlock dearie, you could go with Mrs._ _Ventham_ _on_ _Sunday_ _mornings to do some church charity."_ was his mother's suggestion once.) The only available option was to join the army but the idea of going from here to there, sleeping in dirty and uncomfortable places, protecting areas that didn't belong to him and killing young men that, just like him, were forced to fight one against the other just because an old woman and man couldn't resolve their problems face to face...well, it was nauseous.  

 Now, having to marry a woman just for the sake of having an heir? The idea of having a family with a gender he felt no attraction at all was just as lovely as joining the army. Therefore and thanks to the moral rules that prevailed at the time, every single week, there could be seen a young, naive lady (believing she could be the best match for Sherlock) abandoning the Holmes manor and cursing Sherlock in bitter silence while doing her best to decline the kind apologies offered by the young man's parents. So, if people could stop trying to force him into such topics and left him alone with his books, maps, experiments and music, he would be thankful and in exchange he would stop offending every single lady that'd visit him in the future.  

"Do not you worry, dear father. I am pretty sure that, when the times come where I have to marry, instead you'll find a fresh body with my clothes. Ready to bury." A sarcastic smile adorned his face while fixing his black silk vest and started to walk. "I am not even remotely interested in wasting my knowledge and time in something so absurd as that "love" nonsense nor having a fake person to call my friend. Therefore, you can hire the whole town to be my friends or my valentines since I will never, ever, have a real interest in any of the two." That being said, Sherlock finally got out of his study heading to the stables, ready for a horse ride to forget all his father's words.  

"Maybe that's what I'm going to have to do." Whispered Lord Holmes while looking around at the empty room. "Desperate times require desperate measures."  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's life is about to change. Maybe for better or worse. Only God knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, thank you so much for following this story! I apologize for this awful translation (still, I'm trying to do my best lol) :c  
> Anyway! Hold on, I'm currently working on translating chapter three (for people who were following the previous translation of this work) so I can start working on chapter four.  
> Thank you so much for reading, the kudos and comments <3! 
> 
> *On the XIX century, Whitechapel was the poorest and most dangerous english neighborhood (nowadays, it's still rated as a risk zone.)

**II**

 

The first rays of sun haven't even touched the old poor streets of London's east side when it could be seen how a great part of the neighborhood inhabitants were already up and getting ready for another exhaustive and long shift at the factories, where they spent hours getting along in dangerous jobs in exchange of a poor payment . Still, a poor payment for buying old bread was better than not eating for days. 

At the house marked with number 24 on Boundary street in Old Nichol habitational section, lived a working class family; just like the rest of the street; the walls of said house were cruel during winter and not so kind during summer. There a blond young man (with barely twenty two years of age) fixed his cotton vest that his mother got him several years ago with a jewish ambulant seller. 

"Hurry up, boy. Today you're going to work with me." Said Mr. Watson, the patriarch of the family; John nodded while trying to hurry up, minutes later he was at the poor kitchen table, helping his mother to serve breakfast despite the disapproving look his father shot at both of them. "This is a very important job, if you don't ruin it like everything else you do, we'll  make ends meet until  next month thanks to the fifteen pounds payment of today." 

 "Hamish dear, don't bother him with money issues. He's too young to mortify about it." Said Mrs Watson, playing the role of a lawyer for her son. "I am sorry, dearest." Added at the incipient anger of her husband.  

 "One's never too young to work and survive, on the other hand, he's a bloody lucky bastard: he didn't have to work since age five like I did..." He felt the serious gaze of his son and sighed. "Get rid of that idiotic look of your face and hurry up, John." Snapped John's father and the young man held any complain.  

 Without further complaining or interruptions, both Watsons got out of the house, trying to cover themselves as much as their coats made it possible and started their journey to Harrow, a country town near London. The long journey consisted of fourteen miles (miles that could've been avoided with a cab if his father hadn't drink all the money during the last month) and during said miles, John distracted himself trying to memorize all the medical remedies he had once read months ago; he knew he would never have a chance of being a doctor ( _"You? A doctor? Why should we waste the little money we have in something as stupid and useless like college when we can use it for food and survive? Stop day dreaming and start working!"_  Were John's father words after he told him a little bit about his dream,) but that fact didn't stop him from at least snoop between all the topics and remedies the medical community worked with everyday.  

"Those posh bastards, they all are the same." Said Mr. Watson all of a sudden, distracting John from his train of thoughts, also helping him to realize that the sun finally araised and they were walking in open fields. "Always with those bloody balls and disgusting fancy clothes." 

"Father." John censored with a disapproving tone.  

 "But those posh bastards, just like the one we are about to meet with in half an hour, will get us dining like royalty the whole month." Mr. Watson kept talking like if John never made a sound. "Don't you ever turn into one of them, boy. They would kill their own mothers for just a golden coin, even worse, they love to drag you deep into the mud." 

_"I wouldn't mind being dragged into the mud just a bit."_ Thought John while walking along with his father and decided to agree with him even if he didn't like that philosophical current: John had never belonged to the high class (the most expensive thing he ever owned was a pair of black boots that his mother got him trough the woman she worked for, since said woman had a son of the same age as John and said son didn't want the boots... Well, at the moment John thought the boy's attitude was devious and arrogant but, who cared? That scored him completely new shoes.) but that didn't mean he wholeheartedly agreed with his father and neighbors opinion: All the high class was full with mean, selfish people and the poor class was full with kind-heart people.  

He had a better and easier philosophy: There was good and bad people in the poorer class just as there were kind and ill hearted people in the high class but, if a poor person wanted to achieve more, it could happen with hard work and dedication. 

 Then, John again had to abandon his train of thoughts when his eyes finally caught sight of a three floor building in the middle of a rather vast green field; he's never been there before but was pretty sure his home fitted from ten to fifteen times inside of his future work place, all of this ignited his curiosity and attention: They wouldn't be working in a middle class house, an office or a banker's house; that house showed from the distance the aristocratic status of its inhabitants. Suddenly, a horse galloping could be heard getting closer and closer in the path; John stepped aside to let it pass trough when he got a glance of the young rider travelling in opposite direction to them, the young rider gave Mr. Watson and son a haughty look and turned his face as he got away on the horse.  

 "Do you see what I mean?" Marked Mr. Watson and shook his head in disapproval.  

 On the other hand, John caught himself thinking of the young rider and his eyes that reminded him of the sea after a storm.  _"_ _Never mind_ _."_  Told himself and kept walking. Thirty minutes later, the long walk ended and they finally reached the Holmes manor. 

The interior of the manor was no less fancy than the exterior, or at least that's what John thought despite being received trough the back door used by servants, in the meanwhile, the butler gave them instructions, getting both men to work at the stables. 

 

************************************* 

 

"I'm afraid his lordship will die soon if lord Sherlock keeps annoying him." Said one of the housemaids in the simple but nice dining room for the servants, where everyone was taking breakfast after the first shift attending their employers needs. "lord Sherlock only makes tantrums and makes his lordship go trough a lot of anguish with his bad temper."    

 

"if I was on her ladyship place, I wouldn't have treated the boy with such tenderness and pampering; instead, spankings and appropriate punishments to correct that bad tempered and selfish boy." Interrupted the housekeeper, a woman on her forties. "Because he may be a gentleman thanks to his golden crib, otherwise, you could mistake him with anyone from Whitechapel* thanks to his temper."  

 

 "Mrs. Fisher!" whisper another housemaid, one of the youngest, after having another sip of tea. "Yes, it's true that lord Sherlock's temper isn't the best regarding to his guests but he's gentle and kind with us, therefore, I believe comparing him with Whitechapel, is far unfair."  

 

 "He won't marry you just for saying he's kind and gentle, young girl." Interrupted Mr. Watson. "Where's Mr. William? I'd like to have a word with him if possible."  

 

"Don't you ever again call his lordship by his christian name, silly man!" reprimanded Mrs. Fisher, already disapproving Mr. Watson with her stern gaze. "Anyway, why would you like to talk to him?"  

 

"Oh, it isn't a very important business and maybe I would only bother his lordship." Said Mr. Watson, sounding bored. "but, on the other hand, whatever I have to say might save him from dying in the near future thanks to lord Sherlock's temper."  

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Vazey: The victorian way of calling someone an idiot. 
> 
> Guys! Thank you so much for your advice, suggestions and kudos! <3 
> 
> P.S: I'll work on chapter 4 as much as work lets me :c

**III**

 

"Oi, Watson!" Exclaimed a young boy outside the stables where John was working. John got down of a little bench as soon as he heard his name, going as quick as possible with the boy. "It took you ages to come, mate."  

   

"You aren't the fastest human on earth, Adam. What do you need?"  

   

"His lordship needs you in the library." Answered Adam, one of the indoor servants, while looking John up and down and sighed trying to tide John's hair a little. "wish we could get rid of that awful smell from your hair."   

 John didn't pay any attention to his comment and fixed his shirt sleeves when he started following Adam's path. "And why does Mr. Holmes wants to see me?"   

 "One quick tip: Don't let Mr. Forner hear you calling his lordship "Mr.Holmes", Mr.Forner, the butler, has reprimanded all of us in different occasions in the past for different situations, don't hurry to join our team." Advised the young man, smiled and got inside through the servants door and kept his way until reaching the library.   

 "All that... Sounds pretty good, but it doesn't answer why *his lordship* is looking for me." Said John sounding calm and confident in an attempt to hide his nervousness. "I haven't done anything wrong; I know he gave me the day off so I could rest and get used to this place but instead, I've been learning and working."  

"Don't ask me, Watson. If I were his lordship, you'd be cleaning boots. No one in their right mind puts someone so short like you in the stables." Adam smiled and laughed at John's anger. "Cal down, mate. Remember: Threat him as his lordship, only do what he allows and talk only when he gives you permission to." whispered just outside the library. "My lord, here is John Watson."   

 "Thank you, Adam. You may go." Answered Lord Holmes smiling softly. The boy obeyed and left John in company of said lord and his father, the latter sitting in front of the aristocrat. "Please, do not be afraid, Mr. Watson. I'm not going to reprimand you or fire you," smiled again, "actually, your father has a very interesting news to tell you."   

   

John's father looked at Lord Holmes and nodded. During John's absence, his father discovered that their employer had a young son who always caused him headaches and annoyance thanks to his lack of social skills and absence of interest in being involved in any social event, reaching the limit of being socially awkward; so, knowing that situation, Mr. Watson saw a great work opportunity for his own son. "You'll see, son;" Mr. Watson's voice was so soft and kind that John barely recognized him. "a couple of minutes ago, Lord Holmes gave me a chance to talk to him and it turns out that his younger son; a very fantastic boy in every aspect; wouldn't mind having a nice friendship like yours, since you are a young man easy to trust and your friendship is very valuable, therefore, his lordship and I think that...  

   

"What your father is trying to say, Watson." Interrupted Lord Holmes. "is that in your new position you'd serve as a valet with the exception that you can borrow any book that you want from the library, you'll get decent clothes so you can accompany Lord Sherlock to different places; even, if you wish, we'll sponsor in any subject for you to study. You'll have the room next to my son's so if he ever needs your help during the night, you can reach him easily."   

   

"And... I only have to be with him? Like... accompany him?" John barely murmured.   

   

Lord Holmes nodded. "Accompany him and be his valet plus assisting him when he bathes, for all these services you'll get a twenty pound payment and you'll have Sundays off. Obviously you'll get your meals in this house and for everybody else, you'll be presented as a friend visiting Sherlock for a while. All of this if you accept, of course."   

John was in complete silence. This was a huge opportunity: His work shift, instead of keeping him going from here to there since seven in the morning until six in the afternoon, would only have him reading by the side of a young man or riding with him, walking through the countryside or whatever the aristocrats did during their free time... And for that he would get 20 pounds per month (something that John could barely believe), he'd have Sundays off (he could visit his mother), new clothes and what's even more important: A chance to finally become a doctor was finally close.   

"Come on, boy! Make your mind already, his lordship doesn't have all the day to put up with us." Interrupted Hamish Watson, gaining a chuckle from Lord Holmes.   

 "Mr. Watson please don't hurry your son. After all, he's about to take a great decision regarding his future."   

"I'll do it." John decided, catching both men's attention. "I'll do it. I'll be your son's friend."  

 

********************************************* 

 

While John was defining his future inside the library, the young rider from minutes earlier, arrived at the stables in the Holmes manor and, as soon as the rider step in ground, a young man with green eyes and short brown hair went to help him.  

"Lord Sherlock, how was your ride today, sir?" Asked the young man while taking the horse's rains.  

 "Pacific as always, Joshua. Well, now that you mention it, on my way back with Graphein, two men looked at him like if they never saw an animal in their dull lives."  

"My lord, maybe they weren't staring at your horse, maybe...they were blinded by something, or someone, more...beautiful." Joshua smiled softly.  

"You're right, I guess." Said Sherlock, finding the servant's words a little strange when some women screaming caught his attention, he ran quickly to the back door for the servants and was welcomed by three housemaids screaming and avoiding the ground as if it had turned into a river of hot lava.  

 "My lord, beware! There's a rat!" Warned the youngest housemaid, her eyes frantically scanning the floor.  

 Sherlock sighed clearly annoyed, when he found the little rodent (who was trying to hide behind the grains containers), kicked it to scare it and send it away.  

 "Ladies, if you are going to react this way at the smallest intrusion by any mouse or rat, I suggest you to avoid working in any respectable house at the center of London. You'll all die of a heart attack in the first twenty four hours." Sherlock looked sternly at them right before leaving to enter trough the house's main entrance, let the butler take the riding crop from his hands while another servant told him about his father's whereabouts. It was enough to say the young aristocrat didn't stand the fear and common stupidity easily found in men; for him, all the cowards and slow minded people deserved the worst of punishments (although sometimes he thought their ignorance was punishment enough) and they shouldn't live under the same roof as he did.  

 

************************************************* 

 

"Father? Father!" Sherlock's voice was easily heard from rooms far apart of the library.  

 Sherlock's father sighed heavily at the first call, sipped a little from his tea and forced a little smile. "Speaking of the devil," said to John and Mr. Watson when the dark haired boy finally appeared at the door frame of the room, "Sherlock, first of all and before I have to hear your complaints, I would like to introduce you to Mr. John Watson and his father, Mr. Hamish Watson."  

 

"Why do I have to care about two vazeys?*"  

 

 Mr. Holmes took a deep breath at the insult. "John Watson nor Mr. Watson are a vazey, Sherlock. From now on, John will improve your life with his friendship, therefore, I expect you to treat him like the gentleman you are." 

 "Father!" Sherlock protested, unable to believe the news. "He's not my friend, the only thing I know is that this... man is son of a factory worker and an arthritic seamstress who just recently condemned her family to eat trash from the street thanks to her foolish decision of feeding eggs and milk to her youngest son, instead of the typical moldy bread he hates. Also, they live in the slums." 

 John would have been definitely amazed by Sherlock's deduction if his words weren't so full of disrespect and bitterness, instead, he found himself praying that the young man in front of him wasn't the same Sherlock he would have to accompany.  

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Sherlock's physical appearance makes him look fragile and feeble, but soon John will learn the contrary.  
> (Sorry guys, I still suck at summaries! lol xd)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Spitalfields was a poor neighborhood during the XIX century, habitated mainly by french silk weavers who broke when textile factories appeared in Manchester. 
> 
> **Bottle caps in the XIX century used to be little spheres made of glass and marble. Poor people used to go by the streets looking for the bottle caps to break them and sell the little marble they could get. 
> 
> Guys! I know it's been a looong waiting for this chapter but, hey! finally got it, lol. Now, I know it isn't the best translation ever but I'm trying to do my best (still, if you know someone willing to translate this piece of trash, I'd be forever thankful) and since this fic's version in spanish is about to finish, I think I'll have more time to translate. Again, thank you so much for your comments, kind words and kudos. You guys rock <3 !

**IV**  

Even a feather falling could've been heard in the library due to the silence courtesy of Sherlock's words; both Watsons were discreetly trying to find a place to hide from the reigning discomfort; in the meanwhile, Lord Holmes tried his best to hide the anger behind his icy blue eyes: This was another humiliating situation committed by his son. And he would make sure it was the last one.  

 "I wasn't asking you for that unnecessary information, Sherlock. John is going to live with us from this day on, he'll have a room next to yours and you will always be thankful for his kind company, otherwise, you can ask Forner to do your luggage and move into Spitalfields* with all those frenchs so you can behave like a barbaric young fool!" Exclaimed his father, finding himself on the limit of his patience with a deeper discomfort in the room as a result of the shouting. Minutes passed without an answer from Sherlock, then, Lord Holmes touched his well combed dark hair and sighed. "Mr. Hamish, you understand that your job at the stables is only for today, don't you?" 

 "Of course I do." Agreed Mr. Watson, who barely woke up from his mental numbness (where he decided to hide in order to scape from the discomfort of the situation.) Just in time to answer.  

"Then, I would be delighted if by the end of your shift, you came back to bid goodbye to your son; I give you my word that he'll be in good hands," Mr. Holmes spoke with such calm that it almost made John and his father forget all the screams minutes ago, "Don't you worry, John; I'll ask someone from the service to arrange the room next to Sherlock's and after you take breakfast, my son will take you to see Mr. Tisher, he's an excellent tailor and his brother is equally fantastic with the shoemaking business. Now Mr. Watson, if you please, go back to your duties."  

 Hamish Watson stared at his son for a couple of seconds and left without a word, not caring in going back later to say goodbye and leaving a confuse John behind: How on earth is he going to pay for the new clothes and shoes? John had his shoes thanks to his mother, who sold some marble from old bottle caps*, yes, his shoes were of a poor quality and were painful during his walks on winter... but it was far better than going barefoot trough the snow.  

"Lord Holmes? I'm forever thankful of all the kindness and generosity you're showing towards me but sir, I'd rather wait a couple of months before I visit Mr. Tisher and his brother." Asked John kindly, ignoring when Sherlock blanked his eyes with annoyance.  

 Mr. Holmes stopped writing his letter and looked curiously at John. "Can I know why? The Tisher brothers wouldn't delay too much with your clothes and shoes."  

 "This fool Neanderthal thinks he is going to pay for his own clothes," said Sherlock suddenly sounding bored while taking a seat in one of the chairs near the entrance, "please Watson, if we were asking you to pay for a wardrobe, we would dress you with a potato bag."  

"Sherlock, go and look for Forner, ask him to order breakfast from Mrs. Casey, just for one person and offer her your deepest apologies for the inconvenience of such late breakfast." Ordered Mr. Holmes totally serious without even looking at his youngest son.  

 "But father..." Sherlock tried to complain until he remembered the threat about Spitalfields and kept silent, not without a dramatic sigh before leaving and left them alone.  

 "I do apologize for his terrible behaviour," Mr. Holmes sighed, "I know his manners will make you think otherwise, but he did have an education. It's his annoying temper that ruins everything. Nevertheless, if at anytime in the future he does something like this again, please let me know."  

 

***************************************************************************** 

 

Sherlock reluctantly followed his father's orders (although his pouting gained him the sympathy from the butler because, just like the young maid said during breakfast, the young dark haired man was kind to all the house servants, being almost like a whole different person during his parents visits and balls.  

 And now he found himself in the family dining room accompanied by a cup of tea while the butler served breakfast to John and the latter looked at his plate totally amazed, almost unable to contain his surprise: toasts, ham, eggs and beans were server to him in portions John would have normally shared with his whole family; when he reached the butter, he couldn't stop to think why did _that_ butter looked so different from the one his mother used to serve him when there was enough money for bread and butter... Good God, he was going to be full until the next month's breakfast.  

On the other side there was Sherlock, a mix of boredom and annoyance thanks to John's reactions, he started to feel exasperated at his paid friend's face when the home made jam was served but, what could anyone expect from the youngest Holmes? The longest time he had to wait for dinner were fifteen minutes three years ago (thanks to a little delay from the cook.) Therefore, he truly never experienced hunger, his tailor-made clothes were always in perfect condition, his only worries in the world were: books, knowledge and his arrogance. Then, how would he understand everything that John was going trough if his own "tragedies" couldn't even be called that way?  

"You don't have to take that long to use the cutlery." Said Sherlock while looking at John, totally clueless. "At least not while we dine in private; my parents will excuse you at dinner so you can take it in your room until you learn properly..." 

 "Don't get me wrong but they won't have to worry too long, I'm a fast learner and it won't take me too long. I'm not an idiot." John grinned before biting his second toast, relaxing at last.  

 "Of course not." Sherlock smiled sarcastic and with that little answer, he threw to the bin all his "guest" efforts to make the time a little more bearable.  

Despite Sherlock's rejection, John tried again. "So, your father told mine that you finished college six months ago; what else are you planning to study? Laws? Accountancy? Or maybe you want to pursue a teacher's path, I can see you love books."  

 As soon as John finished, Sherlock burst with laughter. "What? What did I say?" Asked John.  

 "W-Work? Me?" the young man barely asked between laughter, once he recovered, drank some tea and fixed his dark silky tie. "Please, John. My people never had the need to work and we never will."  

"Because you are a bunch of parasites?" Asked John irritably.  

"I remind you that my father belongs to that class of _parasites_ so be careful with your words and hold your filthy tongue, Watson." Warned Sherlock dead serious. "We don't need to "work" because that's why all the poor classes were born: To be servants and survive. We, on the other side, study just for the love of knowledge and be pure; ignorance is the mother of all the dirt found in men and obviously, we the rich cannot be dirty but you and your neighbours...well, can't tell the same tale, can you?" And with a cruel smile, Sherlock put a distance between him and the young blond man.  

 John clenched his fists under the table. The little speech angered him; he had never met someone mean and cruel as Sherlock (and he even believed that kind of person couldn't exist until...well, the young aristocrat.) "Listen here, your _majesty_..." Whispered. 

"Lord, if you don't mind. I'm not interested in holding a crown." Interrupted Sherlock just for the pleasure of annoying the youngest Watson.  

 " _Lord_ or whatever the hell you like, I don't give a damn about how much money you have nor if you know what it feels to sleep in the streets because your father ran out of shillings and didn't pay the rent or if you have any idea of what it is to go looking into little alleys for a job or a way to earn money so that night you and your mother can get some old bread for dinner and I'm not remotely interested in discovering if you have experienced walking during the cold winter nights without knowing if it would be better or worse to walk barefoot because the snow seems to bite your boots with every step you take. Yes, your father has money to waste away without bating an eye but that does NOT give you the right to threat the rest of us like dung, have you ever stop to think that, if it wasn't for your family's money, you'd be in my position trying to endure another bratty little shit's tantrums? Or even worse: Can you picture yourself as a five year old running trough the streets and searching in dumpsters for some food, not minding if its rotten? I don't have to picture it: I lived it. You wouldn't have survived, not even a month; yeah, maybe I don't know how to use some cutlery nor I have a single cent to waste in this life but I least I know how to survive; you're totally useless, your mouth is only good to spit venom and contempt...and I pity your worthless life."  As soon as he finished speaking, John knew it was too late to take everything back and apologize (even if he didn't feel like doing so), he was about to get in trouble but now that he thought about it: It didn't matter. It has been only two hours since he met Sherlock and he was already fed up with his attitude. 

Sherlock stayed completely silent while listening to his paid friend's words, feeling how every word was igniting his nerves with anger; as soon as John finished, he stood up, took him by the neck and slammed him back against the nearest wall. " _Have you ever listened about boxing, beggar? All this complaining...you're about to practice it in a noble dinning room._ " Thought while handling the blonde man, then, a servant came in time when the young aristocrat was about to deliver the first punch.  

"My lord, the room is...ready." The servant interrupted himself by the scene and hurried to put them apart. "My lord! Are you alright, sir? What happened?" Asked while Sherlock fixed his cufflinks and John tried to do his best with his own tie. 

Sherlock smiled haughty, triumph resting on his face: Just one word, one little lie and he could send John back to the slums of London... Still, he had a better idea. "I'm absolutely fine, Harker; Mr. Watson asked me about my passions and my leisure activities, talked to him about boxing and he asked me, charmingly as he comes, if I could show him some movements after breakfast. That's what you saw when you came in. Still, please do tell me what were you going to say." 

 The servant; a 30 years old man with kind soft eyes that matched his dark hair; looked at his employer without totally believing his words but decided not to interfere. "The room for Mr. Watson is ready for his use, my lord. I can show you the way if you please."  

"It'd be the best," agreed Sherlock before exiting the room, "and Watson, please do remember to move with caution, we don't want any accident in the future ¿do we?" There he parted ways from them with a sufficient smile on his face, leaving a annoyed and angry John behind. 

 "What a petty annoying man." Whispered John, walking along the servant. 

"You better be careful with your words, young man. You may be a friend  of the family in front of their friends and their relatives, but in the end you are just another servant. A very lucky servant." Suggested the servant after hearing him. 

 "But you saw him! Did you hear him? He's an insufferable brat! How does he dare to say that we the poor only exist to serve and nothing else? Yes, I agree that we spend a lot of time working  but when we sit at night to take our dinner, we can do it proudly; not minding if it's the best or worst food ever; because we worked hard for it. What does he feel at dinner? Nothing, on the other hand, you and I can fill ourselves with pride and honour for the knowledge and ability of survival. And just for that, we are far more worthy than he think he is."  

The servant smiled at John's words and couldn't help to feel sympathy for him. Still totally silent, opened the door of the dormitory once they were outside and shook his hand. "Charles Harker, a pleasure. And son, let me give you a piece of advice: Don't let Forner hear you speaking ill of his lordship. I don't want you to have troubles."  

 "I know, I know; _don't dare to speak to him like a friend nor by his christening name._ I have it pretty clear." John agreed and shook Harker's hand, smiling softly.  

"Very well, if you ever need anything, there's the service bell at the right side of the bed. Please son, be patient; just remember that lord Sherlock won't always be in need of a companion and in reward, you'll achieve great things." Harker bid goodbye and closed the door after him, leaving John all by himself.  

 The young man kept silent during minutes that seemed hours, trying to process the advice he just got and saw a little ray of light: It was true, Sherlock wouldn't be eighteen forever, at a certain point his parents would look another place for him to live or maybe he would finally marry and leave, then his work would be done... Or even if that never happened and Sherlock had to live with his parents, at some point John would finish his medical studies, being able to leave Holmes manor, forever thankful for the great opportunity.  

 "Someday Sherlock will stop being a young brat." Said to the empty room and with a better mood, smiled until he realized the size of the room: the place was decorated with the style of the era in a romantic and fancy way (just like everything else in the house), having enough space for a little living room for his own, bed and the rest of the furniture, taking John to wonder how many times his former home would fit into the room; marvelled with the luxury, he couldn't help asking himself how many families (and during how long) could eat with the price of every single piece of furniture and fabrics in the bedroom.  

There he saw the bed and, allowing himself a childish moment, jumped into the fluffy mattress and laughed when he landed. "Don't worry, dear mother, soon you'll be as comfortable as I am." Promised again to the empty room and closed his eyes, just for a while. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Sherlock can surprise with his behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *During victorian era, it was common to find a little child on every street corner. For a very low price, childrens would sweep the floor for the aristocracy when they crossed the street. 
> 
> **Frocs: "Formal" coat used during the XIX century. 
> 
> *** Quel bel endroit: "What a nice place."
> 
> Guys, thank you so much for being patient and all your suggestions. Sorry for taking so damn long in updating but finally my laptop is working, so now I can update faster iui   
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments <3

V. 

 

It's been a long time since the last chance he had of feeling like this, so, this is how calm and rest felt? Because it just felt like resting on clouds, letting the world fight under him... But then he got a strange feeling, what was going on? It felt as if someone searched between every single one of his thoughts; soon the clouds left and gave away to the same room he saw last time with his opened eyes.

"For God's sake, Sherlock!" Exclaimed John when noticed the young man standing by his bed's side just like a faithful hound would do with its owner. "How long has he been in there? And how long did he sleep? Still a bit sleepy, John rubbed his face in an attempt to be fully awake and sat on the edge of the bed. "When did you get in?"

"I came in twenty minutes ago; it's been two hours since you had breakfast. I asked Forner to tell you the carriage was ready, you; obviously; didn't answer and went to tell me. That is why I am here." Sherlock answered nonchalant while looking himself in the mirror, fixing his coat just for the sake of vanity. "I asked Harker to drop one of my old clothes into your closet room, it's a bit old I'm afraid: from three years ago, but it will suit you well for the moment." Concluded without taking his eyes from the mirror, being the only time of the day (or even the month) when he loved to look at his own reflection.

John thanked him in silence, trying not to pay too much attention to Sherlock's self-admiration; he was already fed up with only two hours of coexisting, therefore he didn't want another tantrum round from the dark haired boy, at least for the rest of the month. John hurried to open the closet and raised an eyebrow while looking at the size of the room. " _I'll never stop marveling at the size of the room, will I?_ " thought until he found the only outfit filling the adjoining room. "I can't wear this, Sherlock. It's so expensive; I mean, look at it: It's almost new and the fabrics must be...so luxurious." And it only took an annoyed glance from Sherlock to stop his complaining. " _Now I know: I'll never stop the amazement._ " Told himself while getting undress as fast as he could, and even when he had a bit of troubles with the tie, John managed to be ready ten minutes later; looked at himself in the mirror for a mere second and knew that if Mr. Watson looked at him in that instant, the old man would surely disapprove his looks. " _Don't you ever become one of them, boy._ " Those were Mr. Watson's words but, what could John do? It was part of his job.

"Not bad, Watson. You could look worse," murmured Sherlock while looking at him from head to toes, "however, I suggest you not to engage in a deep conversation with the tailor: He'll discover your background if you spend more than two minutes talking to him."

"Believe it or not, I'm not that idiot. I can lie pretty well." John replied starting to get annoyed again while following Sherlock behind.

"Is that so? Could you please, if you are so kind, to tell me every single part of a silverware set and the use of every part? Or please tell me how many servants do we have? Can't answer? Don't you worry, then please answer me: Who is your predilect composer?" Of course Sherlock didn't get a single answer and used the silence as a discreet victory. "That's what I thought. Don't talk more than two minutes with the tailor." Finished while walking to the entrance, taking every step with an elegance he seemed to have inherited from his father and before getting out, the butler offered him a top hat, which he rejected.

Once both boys were inside the carriage, John opted for spending the time in complete silence just to understand all the events that happened with great speed. If someone have told him five years ago that he would be gaining two hundred and forty pounds per year just by studying a career, spending time reading and being companion of a (bratty) young aristocrat, he would've laughed and even worried about the mental health of said messenger... But now, that was his reality: a reality where he would have to strive thanks to Sherlock's attitude and his questions about tableware and music: What is he going to do? 

"Beethoven." Sherlock whispered all of a sudden in the middle of the trip, still gazing the fields outside.

"What?" Said John confused.

"The way you look and the way your breath rhythm has slowed since I advised you to keep a low key conversation, it's clearly obvious you're thinking about it, more precisely: about your musical ignorance. Therefore: Beethoven. Start listening to Beethoven." Then silence wrapped the carriage once more, Sherlock without knowing how he amazed John with his mood changes: One moment he was cold and distant, even rude, but the next moment he seemed interested in the damage his tantrums left and tried to fix the remains.

After an hour the trip was finally over and once they had their feet on the ground, Sherlock began a light tour around the shops and what did they sell (he even dared to show his knowledge of the best products offered by each shop,) John paid attention to every word he said and when Sherlock paid two shillings to a young boy standing on a corner*, the blond man thought that, thanks to his mother, he didn't suffer the same fate when he was five years old. The youngest Holmes kept playing his guide role until they reached a large shop with a facade in light colors and fancy gold sign in the upper part of the building announcing the name of the place; Sherlock opened the door for John and waited in the middle of the shop.

"Oh, Lord Holmes!" Greeted the tailor; a man whose hair was beginning to become a mix between black and gray; with a smile and a great mood once he came back from the counter. "If you allow me a word, your lordship, I see you brought a shopping pal with you." The man smiled while looking at John from head to toe, the latter smiled awkwardly.

"One could say that, Mr. Tisher," agreed the dark haired boy and sighed, talking like John wasn't there, "you'll see, my friend Mr. Watson, is visiting me for a while but unfortunately he didn't buy a proper amount of outfits according to the new trend, so I told him: " _My dear Watson, we must go to the best tailor of the country"_ and here we are."

"Your lordship, you and your compliments. If I was a lady, I would think you are trying to gain my affection." joked the tailor. Sherlock's family was a regular client since Mr. Thisher's great grandfather opened the shop, since then, every Tisher that owned the business knew that after a Holmes visited the shop, a good revenue stayed. "But let me tell you, without wanting to sound like an egoist, that the appearance of your friend lies in good hands. I guess it is going to be a couple of froc jackets*"

"Good Mr. Tisher, when I told you my friend needs a whole new closet, it was the truth. We are going to need, at least, ten of everything: suits, frocs, shirts and so on. Also, you'll do good if you give notice to your brother that my friend and I are going to pay him a visit once we finish with you."

"Of course, Lord Holmes!" Said Mr. Tisher rather excited knowing his brother would be benefited from the boys shopping trip. As hurried as he could be, the tailor fetched one of his fastest employees and sent him with the notice to his brother. "Do not worry, your grace; Timothy has the fastest legs I have ever seen. Now, Mr. Watson if you please."

"By the way, Mr. Tisher, ignore the complaining my good friend could do regarding the materials you might use. He has the money but still loves to whine like if he didn't have a place to die." Sherlock added while the tailor showed John the perfect spot to stand by and the latter murdered the young aristocrat with his eyes.

"Mr. Watson, please do not worry about your clothes nor its quality. As Lord Holmes can tell you, his noble family has been doing business with mine for four generations and we never disappointed them." Said the tailor, beginning with his work. "Now please tell me: Would you like nacre or gold?"

"Well, ehr..." John hesitated and hated to acknowledge the truth: Earlier, Sherlock didn't lie about how John could ruin everything if he exceeded his words... The worst part was that he didn't even talk until that moment. Gold or nacre? He wasn't a girl to be wearing loads of jewelry and by what he saw about Sherlock and Lord Holmes, aristocratic men didn't wear it either. What then? "Nacre, I think."

"Good choice, sir. Believe it or not you have a pretty similar taste to your friend. Every time Lord Holmes pays us a visit along his mother, Lady Holmes, he always chooses the same material for buttons like you did: elegant and discreet. Just like it has to be." The tailor smiled cordially and the rest of the work was done in the most efficient of ways, showing with every move and note the talent that ran trough Mr. Tisher's veins, proving why the Holmes clan didn't argue to pay such prices for clothes. "Your lordship, here's the bill and don't worry, it can be paid when you send someone to pick them up."

With a grateful (fake) smile, Sherlock took the bill to keep it inside his jacket and got out of the shop while trying to keep the prices out of John's sight. With the same silence, and being a similar process with the tailor (but not as slow, to John's relief), they paid the promised visit to the shoemaker, who again gave another bill and let them go; despite of being done with the tasks for the day, the young aristocrat kept going through the streets of London with a peace unknown to John, ignoring every beggar that dare to ask for some mercy from him until one of the beggars, a young man close to John's age with the old clothes covered in dirt thanks to the temporal jobs he had and the street adventures, reached closer to them.

"John? John Watson?" asked the boy, confusing John. "It can't be... It's me, Eliah! We used to play together when we were kids until mom decided to move into a workhouse."

John was silent until he remembered the emerald eyes that he used to associate to his young friend, now the man standing in front of him. Slapped his own forehead and smiled. “Of course, Eliah! Please forgive me for not remembering you, but it's been a long time my dear fellow. You have no idea how much I missed seeing a friendly face." And while John chatted with his friend, the latter couldn't help to notice John's new clothes nor Sherlock's presence, who stayed by John's side with a bored look on his face.

"One question, mate: How did you do to go up? I mean, it doesn't matter how much we work, you can never mingle with the posh brats. How did you do it?"

 

"First: Don't call them like that, I know some... defy your patience, but not all the rich people are mean. Now, I can't tell you all the details, Eliah but what I can suggest you is: go to the Holmes manor, ask to have a word with Mr. Forner, who happens to be the butler, and I'm pretty sure he'll hire you or, if that's not the case, he´ll let you have a word with Lord Holmes; be respectful to Lord Holmes, he's a very nice and kind man but in exchange you have to be a good worker. Got it?"

"Yeah, whatever. But what's your job about? Maybe I can ask for a similar position." He insisted, trying John's patience.

"And I'm telling you I cannot tell you about it. Go to the Holmes manor for an interview and you'll be fine, honestly," the youngest Watson noticed the boredom on Sherlock's face and the way he kept looking the time on his pocket watch and sighed, "listen Eliah, my good friend, do as I say; go and you'll have a good job, you'll be treated kindly and the most important thing: There won't be another day where you have to look for food on the streets or steal coins from the naïve. Take good care and hope to see you at the manor." Smiled softly and resumed the walk, leaving his friend behind.

"You are very lucky indeed, Watson." Scolded Sherlock as soon as Eliah couldn't hear them. "During all your disgraceful chat, none of my parents’ acquaintances or friends happened to be around; otherwise, their social life would have ended if someone had seen you being kind to a beggar."

John sighed trying to gain all his patience. "It has never been nor will ever be my intention to worry or bother your parents but Eliah isn't a beggar; yes, his clothes and face are dirty but when you are poor you cannot afford to pay someone to prepare us a bath, we apologize for that." Of course his apology was full of sarcasm, when they walked in front of St. Mary's hospital, he regretted said sarcasm: If only he had kept silence and ignore Sherlock's complaining, he could have suggested to ask for some information about the medicine school... Until he noticed the path Sherlock took. What was he doing? John would never understand him.

"You can't begin a career if you don't ask prices and start dates." Was the only thing Sherlock said, answering John's silent questions.

John walked by his friend's side and when they stopped at the main hall to get the proper information, the future doctor looked with discretion at all the students that passed by with their pocket notebooks in hand, some others discussing some of the medical topics and, of course, the youngest Watson couldn't help to marvel himself when his eyes spotted a licensed doctor. And there he stood, god know how long, admiring and listening to everything he could, trying to learn and memorized things even if he didn't understand them... Until his bubble popped again. "Sorry, what?"

 

"Move so we can get out of here. I have all the information for my father. Also, I presume you can't write and don't have any knowledge in Latin, greek, French or German." Interrupted Sherlock while opening the door and letting him get out first and John acknowledged his ignorance. The young Holmes sighed and after a short stop in a book shop (where he bought a couple of books, paper sheets, ink and pens) he directed John and himself trough Albemarle street until they stopped in front of a white large building, the facade getting along with the architectural fashion of the time and once again, a golden sign spelling the name of the place _Brown's hotel_. Once they got in, a man showed them to a fancy tea room filled with only a few tables due to its privacy and both boys sat at a spot near the windows; Sherlock ordered for them and during their wait, put the books and paper sheets on the table.

"I don't mean to be nosy but, what is this for? Are you planning to study something new?" Asked John while his friend took out a little silver cigarette case along with a matchbox, took a cigarette into his mouth to light it and breath the smoke.

 

"Not me, you." Sherlock got his chair closer to the table. "For now, you are only capable of speaking English, are ignorant of all the romance and poise French can give you, if you try to read one of Plato's papers, you'll understand nothing but the illustrations; for example, if I say " _Quel bel endroit_ ***" Can you tell me what did I say?"

"You're being a show off and that's not nice." Suggested John a bit annoyed.

"No! It's French. And you'll learn it because not all the medical information is in English; also, German, Greek and Latin will be handy to you," promised the youngest Holmes, "I'll teach how to write at home."

And with that little promise, without knowing, Sherlock surprised John again: He was being nice and even friendly without being asked to, like if he truly enjoyed John's company.

 

And John was thankful.

 

 

  


 

 

 

 


End file.
